


I opened my chest and showed her my scars

by elouanwrites



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Mild Angst, Poetry, Romance, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elouanwrites/pseuds/elouanwrites
Summary: Bly hesitated at the door of the general’s quarters, turning his helmet over and over in his hands. He had no real reason to be there. His shift was over, he had no pending reports for her to review, no forms to sign. He shouldn’t be there. He should be back in his quarters, adding names to the numbers on the casualty list from New Holstice. And yet, there he was, moping like a lonely akk pup sitting at his master’s door.
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Comments: 32
Kudos: 132





	I opened my chest and showed her my scars

* * *

Bly hesitated at the door of the general’s quarters, turning his helmet over and over in his hands. He had no real reason to be there. His shift was over, he had no pending reports for her to review, no forms to sign. He _shouldn’t_ be there. He should be back in his quarters, adding names to the numbers on the casualty list from New Holstice. And yet, there he was, moping like a lonely akk pup sitting at his master’s door. He sighed wearily, leaning against the wall of the corridor and closing his eyes.

He should just—turn around, go back to his bunk. She had said many times that if he ever needed to talk about anything to come to her. But General Secura didn’t need to deal with his issues on top of her own grief, not when it was _his_ job to support _her_. It was clear that the general cared at least as much about all the troopers they lost as he did, and their deaths weighed on her just as heavily, if not more. He would be fine, no matter how much it didn’t feel like it at the moment. Decided, he nodded sharply, pulled himself together and away from the wall. He was a step back down the hall when the door behind him slid open and warm, golden light poured out of the room beyond it.

“Commander? Is everything all right?”

Bly jerked to a halt, grimacing. Of course she noticed him dithering near her door like an awkward shiny. She noticed _everything_. “Yes, General,” he said firmly, stiffening his spine with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Everything is fine, I apologize for disturbing you.”

There was a rustle of cloth behind him and he half turned to give her a reassuring smile, but stopped short at the sight that greeted him. It was the first time he’d seen his general in anything but battle-dress, and of course it was when she was in her karking _nightgown._ It looked—like someone had taken a sunrise and spun it into cloth, all pale gold and shimmering. It draped over her body like it was grateful for the privilege, hugging her frame from her neck to her hips then flaring out to swish gently against her thighs. Not only that but she wasn’t wearing a headdress at all, her lekku and ear cones completely exposed. He felt as though he were witness to something he had no right to see.

A flush crept up his neck and across his face as he jerked his gaze to the wall, stammering. “Sir, I—sorry sir, for waking you, I was just—” Kriff, even his _ears_ felt hot. His fingers twitched against the plastoid of his bucket, and he just barely refrained from jamming it onto his head to hide his shame. “I’ll see you on the bridge in the morning, sir.”

“Commander, it’s quite all right,” she said quietly, her voice soft and uncharacteristically hesitant. “I wasn’t asleep. Would you...like to come in? I’ve just made tea, and there’s plenty to share.”

Bly, alarmed, twitched his gaze over to see a small, melancholy smile on his general’s face. She sounded...off, and he was starting to grow concerned. “Sir, are _you_ all right?” His concern grew as she let out a soft sigh, her eyes closing for a moment.

“No, commander,” she murmured, sending his heart sinking into his boots. “I rather think that I’m not. I could use some company, if you’re willing.”

He swallowed nervously, shifting on his feet, but if his general wanted company then he was going to provide it. It hadn’t taken long-serving under her to realize that he would walk through the void itself if she asked him to. Repressing his own embarrassment long enough to drink some tea was nothing. “Of course, sir,” he said. “I’ve never actually tried tea, I’d love to.”

Her smile grew warmer, a little less melancholy, and Bly felt a flutter of satisfaction deep in his chest at being able to brighten his general’s mood at least somewhat. He followed her into the room and set his bucket on the corner of her tidy desk, then perched awkwardly on the low couch and watched the general retrieve a second cup. Her hands were so graceful, he noticed yet again, as she poured a flowery scented liquid from the small pot. It was a thought that struck him often, but usually it was in a battle or as she gestured during a command briefing. That it was here instead, in a warm room full of soft light, with no threat or battle looming, felt—he wasn’t sure _what_ he felt, just that it was...nice.

She smiled again as she handed him the cup, then stepped around the low table to settle on the other end of the couch. “Be careful,” she said as he lifted it to his lips. He paused with a querying eyebrow, then raised the other with a soft noise of realization as he registered the heat seeping through his gloves. Instead of directly tasting it, he let the steam rise into his nose, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of flowers.

“Oh,” he said softly, eyes widening. “It smells beautiful.” He looked over at her only to be struck almost breathless at how _soft_ she looked. She had tucked her legs up under her on the couch, and both of her hands were wrapped around the warm cup in her hands as she inhaled the fragrant steam and watched him over the rim. The warmth of her smile was making his throat hurt with how firmly he was repressing his _completely inappropriate_ feelings, and he cleared it quietly and looked away again.

From the corner of his eye he watched as she cocked her head, her lekku twitching at the tips with what he hesitantly translated as uncertainty. “Commander, would you…” She paused, and he looked over just in time to catch her gaze before she looked away. “Would you call me Aayla? Just when we aren’t on duty, of course,” she finished quickly, still looking away. “And only if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Bly almost dropped his cup from suddenly nerveless hands as he _stared_. Slowly letting out an ever so slightly shaky breath, he tore his eyes away from her and stared fixedly at the wall on the other side of the room. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammered, pretending he couldn’t feel his ears heating up again. “I mean. Aayla.” He swallowed another ‘sir’ before it got past his teeth, and quickly took a sip of his still rather hot but fortunately not scalding tea. It didn’t taste in the least like it smelled. It was a little grassy, but sweet, and he found that he quite liked it. He took another hasty sip, then gestured with the cup awkwardly. “It’s good. The tea,” he said awkwardly.

He stole another glance, feeling strangely shy, and she was _smiling_ at him again, her eyes soft and crinkled at the corners with pleasure. “I’m glad, Comm—”

“Bly,” he blurted out, then closed his eyes with an embarrassed grimace. “I mean. If you want. You can—you can call me Bly, sir. Aayla.” Daring to open his eyes again after a moment when somehow she didn’t laugh at his bumbling, he was struck anew with how beautiful his general was. How beautiful _Aayla_ was. Kriff, that would take getting used to. It almost felt sacrilegious.

Her smile was even warmer now, and there was no longer any trace of uncertainty in her as she shifted on the couch in a way that brought her just a bit closer to him. “Bly, then,” she said softly. The sound of her voice saying his name with no title in front of it gave him a strange flutter in his chest that he did not at all know how to deal with. “I’m glad you like it.”

She had moved close enough for him to reach out and touch and Bly was going to _die_. He looked around desperately for something, anything to spark a conversation so he wouldn’t just blurt out how much he lo- _admired_ his general, and his eyes lit on a small book on the table. An actual book, not a holobook, which was definitely a rare enough sight to comment on. He tipped his head to read the title on the spine, but all it said was ‘Avamarivash’ in a strangely graceful script, almost like it had been written by hand instead of typed. It had a torn piece of flimsi sticking out of it, like a place marker, and he realized his awkward lurking had probably interrupted her while she was reading.

He glanced over at her, and gestured towards the book with his cup before taking another sip, carefully concentrating on the flavor of the tea and not how soft Aayla’s blue skin looked, or how he could feel a slight warmth emanating from her side of the couch. “Don’t think I’ve ever actually seen a paper book before.”

She sighed, a wistful little sound, and leaned over to set her cup on the table and pick up the book instead, holding it with almost reverent hands. “They are quite rare, aren’t they? It makes sense, of course, with how much more convenient holobooks and flimsiplast are, but there’s something to be said for the feel of paper in one’s hands.” She paused for a moment, stroking her slender fingers down the front of the book’s cover, almost petting. “Particularly when one is reading poetry.”

Bly very carefully didn’t entertain even a hint of imagining what those fingers would feel like on his skin, and was decidedly and emphatically _not_ jealous of a _book_. “I’ve...heard of poetry, but I’ve never read any,” he said with a bit of his own wistfulness. “It wasn’t—that wasn’t part of our education.”

And if he had ever wished he had the opportunity to learn some of the softer things the galaxy had to offer, things that weren’t all about war or strategy or loyalty, well. There was no point in wishing to be anything but what he was, and he wasn’t made for the softer things. Aayla’s smile faded, as though she could sense the downward turn of his thoughts. For all he knew, she could. He still wasn’t sure of the scope of a jedi’s abilities. That turn abruptly reversed as she shuffled even closer, and his breath caught in his throat as she reached out and touched his arm, the blue of her fingers contrasting with the wide gold stripe on his vambrace in a way he very much liked.

“I can read some to you, if you would like?” She asked with a soft lilt, her accent rolling across his ears like a ballad. He may not know anything about poetry, but he did know songs, and her voice was definitely the sweetest music he’d ever heard. “I’ve always enjoyed reading aloud, but it does feel rather silly to do so in a room alone.”

He let out a slow, wavering exhale. She wanted to read out loud. Poetry. To _him_. He really was going to die. “I would...I would be honored. Aayla.” Her smile lit up, drawing an answering smile from his own lips, and he settled further into the couch and turned to face her more fully, resigned to his fate and not minding in the least.

* * *

Her evening had started so terribly, terribly sad, the weight of their losses pressing her soul to the floor the moment she closed her door to her quarters and let herself feel it. None of her usual methods could quite lift the crush of guilt, not meditation, not even her favorite poetry. Jedi were not meant to be generals, and even though she was doing her best to keep them all alive, every loss cut at her heart. Losing forty percent of her troops in a single battle, _her_ troopers to keep and protect and care for, was almost more than she could bear.

But then the solid pillar of strength and unwavering loyalty that was her dear commander stopped outside her door, and then...stayed. Aayla always felt steadier when Bly was near, so when he was willing to join her for tea she felt her spirits rise. They had been working together for seventeen months, and over that time she had grown terribly fond of him.

Perhaps...somewhat more than just fond. There was something about him that appealed to her more than she had expected. He wasn’t the first clone she’d met, so she had expected to find him physically attractive (whatever else he may be, Jango Fett was undeniably _very pretty_ ). What she had _not_ anticipated was how his wry smile would make her breath catch in her throat. She hadn’t expected his quiet chuckle to warm her, or his steady presence to make her feel so _safe_. He was so contained and disciplined that it made him hard to read without the sort of prying that she avoided, and he rarely projected his thoughts or feelings to any significant degree, but she had begun to feel as though he had at least some positive feelings for her as well.

His reaction to the sight of her in her nightdress, though, seemed to knock him entirely off-kilter. Over the course of their halting conversation, as he flushed and stammered, she was gently buffeted by his uncharacteristic projecting, and it made her heart flutter up into her throat. The depth of feeling she sensed was startling, but not at all unwelcome. The occasional flash of heat that shot through the waves of tender devotion whenever his eyes lingered too long on her hands or her legs had her repressing a flush of her own. Only long experience being deeply embarrassed by her master at every opportunity gave her the strength to hold it back. That strength failed her, though, at the flood of overwhelmed delight that escaped Bly when she offered to read to him, and she felt her cheeks warm in counterpart to his own.

Perhaps with a shrewd selection of verse, she might be able to...convey her admiration for her commander. Make it clear, without any chance of him feeling pressure or obligation, that she would—that his feelings were not unwelcome. And if that failed, well. It was no hardship to share a quiet evening reading love poetry to a beautiful man, even if nothing came of it. She opened her book and set aside the makeshift bookmark, then flipped back a ways to one of her favorites. _Perfect._

“From the beginning of my life, I have been looking for your face,” she began slowly, her accent thickening as it always did when she read aloud. “And today I have seen it. Today, I have seen the charm, the beauty, the unfathomable grace of the face that I have been searching for.” As always, the cadence of the warrior poet’s words rolled through her spirit like a smooth stone in a stream, and she let herself get caught up in the flow.

“Today I have found you,” she said warmly, letting the words fall from her lips like a promise. “And those who laughed and scorned me yesterday are sorry that they were not looking...as I did.” Her gaze flicked up to see Bly staring, rapt, his warm brown eyes fixed on hers and his lips slightly parted as he sucked in a soft breath. She flushed harder, her breath caught in her throat, and had to firmly repress the urge to twist her lekku together under her chin. It was too soon to be quite that blatant about her feelings. Not yet.

“I am bewildered, by the magnificence of your beauty,” she murmured, not breaking her gaze, not needing to read the much-beloved words to remember them. Not now, with her heart pounding in her chest as Bly looked at her with reverence. “And I wish to see you with a hundred eyes. My heart has burned with passion, and has searched forever for this wondrous beauty that I now behold.”

Bly’s exhale was audible, shaking, and he shivered as his eyes closed. His hands trembled around his cup, then stilled. Aayla shifted closer on the couch until her knees just brushed his thigh, and he shivered again. “I am ashamed to call this love mortal,” she said quietly, setting the book aside and resting her fingers once more on his vambrace, gently, an offer, not a request. “But too frightened of the gods to call it divine. Your fragrant breath, like the morning breeze, has come to the stillness of the garden.”

She paused, her gaze searching his face, and his eyes slowly opened and fixed upon her once more. Her lekku twitched a question, and he shuddered and leaned forward, blindly reaching out to set his cup on the table. She smiled as his hand rested over hers, the texture of his glove pleasantly rough on her skin, and lifted the other to run the pads of her fingers across the gold stripe on his cheek. “You have breathed new life into me,” she whispered, leaning closer, drinking in the warmth of his feelings as he trembled under her hands. “I have become your sunshine, and also your shadow.”

His free hand lifted to his lips and he bit the fingertip of his glove, drawing it off his hand, then let it drop forgotten to his lap as he raised his fingers to rest hesitantly on the line of her jaw. His lips parted on a breath, a sound, perhaps her name, and leaned forward to rest his forehead gently against hers, and it was her turn to tremble. She pulled her hand out from under his and lifted it to his other cheek, cupping his face in her palms. His brown eyes had flecks of gold hidden in their depths. She’d never been close enough to see them before, and now she couldn’t look away.

“My soul is screaming in ecstasy,” she breathed against his lips, watching his eyelashes flutter at the depth of his feelings. “Every fiber of my being is in love with you. Your brilliance has lit a fire in my heart, and made radiant for me the earth and sky.” His eyes glistened, and his face twisted as he closed them and the breath shuddered from his throat. She pet his cheeks soothingly, brushing her nose against his, once, twice, then pressed a soft kiss against his lips. His gasp was soft and sweet, so she moved her hands down to his jaw and tipped his head up to do it again. He was so beautiful, and he was radiating such pure devotion that it gave her a heady rush like nothing else she’d ever felt. He was beautiful and he was hers, even if he hadn’t said it aloud yet.

She leaned back far enough to see him properly, her fingertips tracing the lines of his face with gentle strokes, and turned her own head to press lightly into his hand. “My arrow of love has arrived at the target,” she murmured, watching as each word seemed to ratchet his emotions higher, his fingers twitching where they were resting so lightly against her jaw, his other still gloved hand clenched in a fist on his knee. “I am in the house of mercy, and my heart—” She leaned forward once more, stopping just at his lips and breathing the last words against them. “—is a place of prayer.”

As the last syllable left her mouth Bly shuddered under her hands, pressing into her kiss with a soft, desperate groan. He didn’t try to lead, made no attempt to dominate, just opened for her kiss like a flower unfurling in the light of dawn, and she drank him in with a quiet sound of delight. “My Bly,” she murmured, smiling against his mouth, and slid one leg across his to kneel over him, still holding his face in her hands. “Would you like another poem?”

His bare fingers traced from her jaw down her neck, and she hummed as his other hand wrapped around her hip. His eyes were blown wide with arousal, his breath short, and he worshipfully pressed his lips to hers in a reverent kiss. “Yes,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “ _Please._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Poem 'Looking For Your Face' not actually by canonical Je'daii warrior poet Avamarivash, but by human poet Rumi.


End file.
